=Part I in the Beaverian Legends Octet=
1
Winger Harr struggled against his bonds and shackles as he was dragged into the palace. The middle-aged hedgehog was being brought forth to the Beaverian Imperial Jury for a crime he did not commit. Hadn’t Winger suffered enough? The hedgehog inventor and metal-smith had recently lost his best friend, Jenlo Swordsong, a commander in the Beaverian Elites.
Also, Winger was losing money fast. His investment in failed inventions was too high, and his latest experiment; the automatic sword, had cost him the most gold yet. As one of the few non-beavers living in Beaveria, Winger felt discriminated and shamed. He had considered deserting Beaveria several times, but he couldn’t leave. He had lived in Beaveria all his life, and couldn’t bring himself to go.
Jenlo was killed in a battle at the edge of Beaveria against mercenary invaders. He was a warrior, skilled with an axe. Since his wife died, all he had was Winger, his army, and his son. Little Hewitt Swordsong. Winger had made a vow to take care of Hewitt lest anything happen to Jenlo. But, at this turn of events, Winger saw his future plummet to the ground like one of his experimental hang-gliders.
Soon Winger and the guards who dragged him along reached the Court of the Imperial Jury. He was thrown in roughly, in front of the Jury. A voice, coming from across the room, called out loudly and clearly, “Winger Harr, we bring you to the Imperial Court today for charges of selling information to the enemy!”
There was a hushed gasp from the observers as the judge strode in. Dupont Sunblade, a former cleric of Untul and avid politician, was a beaver of great honor. He was still young, but was sought after all over Beaveria for councils and trials. The beaver was large and strong, but wouldn’t fight even if his life depended on it. His true skills were not on the field of battle, but on the field of blames and wild accusations.
“Winger Harr, hedgehog inventor and smith. You have been seen passing information to enemy mercenaries. Do you admit to this?”
Winger tried his best not to cry or shake. “N-No, your honor.”
Many a disbelieving nod was passed among the observers. Dupont stroked his handlebar mustache thoughtfully.
“Do you realize the penalties of being charged guilty for this crime, hedgehog?” “Yes, y-your honor.”
“If charged guilty, you will be exiled from Beaveria and will never be allowed to enter again. We call to the podium the accuser, Belgrade Swiftspell.”
There was a scraping of chair legs as a suited beaver stood. Belgrade Swiftspell was an apprentice cleric of Iertyl, Beaverian God of Light. He was still a boy, really, at 19. But, he was a valedictorian at the Beaverian Academy, and, his father was a renowned warrior in the Beaverian Elites: Halberd Swiftspell the Almighty.
With a dramatic sweep of his yellow robes, Belgrade stood at the podium beside Judge Dupont. The beaver Judge cleared his throat and shuffled through some rolls of parchment.
“Belgrade Swiftspell, cleric son of Halberd, please relay to us your story.”
Belgrade smirked slightly. The cocky youngster knew he was going to win this case and banish the hedgehog from the empire forever. He leaned against the podium, and yawned.
“Well, yer honor, I was walking through the agora when I saw this hedgehog behind a shop, talking to some evil-looking foxes. It looked like a suspicious meeting, so I traipsed over to the shop and started to listen in.
“From what I heard, he was discussing Jenlo Swordsong’s position. He was surely giving away the location of the Beaverian Elites, which led to the ambush which slain our hero.”
The words of Belgrade were like blows to Winger’s un-protected stomach. The hedgehog went considerably pale under his spikes.
“B-b-Belgrade speaks f-false, your Honor!”
Winger’s outburst created a commotion among the jury and onlookers. Judge Dupont pounded his grovel to restore silence. Winger glared at Belgrade, unable to control himself.
“You damned liar! May Yaneya torture you in all eternity! I did not give them Jenlo’s position! They weren’t even enemies! They owned the shop, and were interested in buying some of my prototypes!”
Belgrade walked calmly over to Winger. “And what of your discussion about Jenlo?”
“They asked who my friends were, and I said my only friend was Jenlo, a Beaverian commander! I swear to all the Beaverian gods and goddesses, and upon my honor and soul, I was not conspiring against the Emperor in any way! I was doing business! I…”
Winger was silenced as a melee broke out. He was never sure what exactly happened. Belgrade had thrown the podium at Winger and accused him of lying, Judge Dupont wasn’t heard pounding his grovel as a few beavers in the crowd drew their swords and cursed at the hedgehog. Chairs, tables, and papers flew as the fight started around him.
After fifteen long minutes of fighting and confusion, the trial resumed. The jury had left to vote on Winger’s innocence. Winger could feel many pairs of beaver eyes glaring at him darkly.
Almost an hour passed before the jury of beavers returned.
2
“We, the appointed Imperial Jury of Beaveria, find Winger Harr guilty of conspiracy. You are now exiled from Beaveria, never allowed to pass our gates again. You will be escorted to Mt. Latsra, from where you will journey north.”
Winger let the tears flow freely from his weathered muzzle as his knees collapsed under him with anger, sadness, and frustration. The beaver guards yanked him from the floor roughly and hauled him from the palace. Winger saw his future shriveling before his eyes like a raisin.
“Can’t I even get my things, you fools? I need my supplies, my food, my weapons…” “No.” The guard kicked Winger roughly, careful of his spikes.
Winger was taken through the large city of Beaveria towards a large plateau a few miles off. The hedgehog looked sadly at the empire, wishing the pompous cleric wouldn’t have done this to him. Winger had admired the beautiful columns and arches, the wonderful architecture and design of the buildings. No invention would take away the feeling of emptiness deep inside Winger Harr.
As the guards passed through the heavily guarded gate to Beaveria, Winger felt his soul stay behind, in the form of a young beaver named Hewitt. Little did Winger know, his life was not over. He still had a friend.
3
“Hewey, honey, why don’t you go play with the other kids? You just keep popping your head out of the window!”
The fussy maid, Tara Bridgewood, picked the 8-season Hewitt up from the window and placed him on the floor. She was the wife of Bobert Bridgewood, a Beaverian warrior and military commander. Her husband was very ambitious, and his ambition scared even her.
Bobert was a half-brother to Jenlo Swordsong. After Winger was exiled and Jenlo was slain in battle, Bobert took little Hewitt into his quarters for protection. Bobert’s young nephew had been crying and trying to run away lately. Bobert sensed that the loss of his father and the banishment of Winger had harmed the kid’s spirit and longing for happiness.
Tara sat the crying Hewey down and scorned him. “Listen, little beaver, if you don’t stop trying to run away, I’ll have to cut off your teeth! Got it?” Hewitt tried to hide his two large beaver teeth from his aunt scaredly. The little beaver ran upstairs to his cot. A few minutes later, sobbing was heard.
“What can we do for him?” Tara asked Bobert concernedly.
“Nothing. His grief will subdue him like this for a long while. No matter how much we spoil, scold, or ignore Hewitt he will keep acting like this. I suggest we just let him be for a while.”
As the adult beavers were talking, Hewitt stopped crying and looked around, sniffing. “I wonder what to do now without my daddies…” Hewitt said, thinking about Winger and Jenlo. He wiped a tear away from his troubled, dark blue eye and sat up on his cot.
“Maybe I could find Daddy Winger…it be quite hard, with all the beasties here in Beaveria. Oh, wait a sec, he doesn’t live here anymore! All I have to do is take Uncle Bobby’s sword and go find Daddy Winger! This will be easy, maybe even fun! Daddy Winger might even be able to invent something to bring Daddy Jenlo back! Forget rules, I’m goin’!”
Silent as a beaver kid could be, Hewitt dropped slowly from his cot, creeping along the floor towards the stairs. He could easily sneak down to the bottom of the stone house without disturbing his aunt and uncle. Hewitt crept slowly to the curio in the back of the kitchen, where Bobert kept his sword when at home.
Well out of their eyesight, Hewitt tried vainly to open the cabinet and take his uncle’s sword. The sword’s blade was about five feet long, with a green hilt-stone. It would be hard for a kid like Hewitt to grab, let alone adventure with.
Hewitt thought of his friend, Fareway Bulrush. Fareway was one of the few otters living in Beaveria, but he was Hewitt’s playmate and partner in crime. Fareway was practically immune to fear, and his claws were quite busy. Whenever the young otter would pass, beavers would hide their purses and keep their pockets out of reach.
Fareway was an able thief, but, he didn’t see some things as stealing. He called it “borrowing” or “easy buying.” He called it “easy buying” because the agora clerk won’t have to count out the change. Little did he know, not many beasts shared his opinion.
“Where is Fareway when you need him most!?” exclaimed Hewitt exasperatedly. “I need Uncle Bobert’s sword now!”
Hewitt sighed and stopped tugging on the curio. “I guess I won’t defend myself…” he said, depressed. The little beaver walked slowly out of the house’s back door, listening for his aunt and uncle. But, they kept talking, and Hewitt set off towards the gates of Beaveria.
4
Winger Harr sat on the edge of one of Mt. Latsra’s many plateaus, peering over Beaveria. He could see the elegant palace in the center of the city, rising above all in its splendor. Towers, minarets, and spires decorated the palace, making it seem more regal than it already is. It was sunset, and the red sky cast an eerie shadow over the dimming empire. Then, Winger wiped a tear from his cheek as he saw, almost one by one, the lanterns in the windows of shops and homes come on.
“Beaveria…I’ll miss you…” he remarked sullenly.
Winger started gazing at the city again. Arranged in a square around the palace were four Temples, each a different color. In the northwest corner, the Temple of Yaneya stood, dark and foreboding like the goddess it honors. The sky-blue Temple of Untul was in the southwest corner, shining in the dark like a beacon of hope. On the northeast corner, of red sandstone, was the Temple of Norgget, seeming plain and neutral. Finally, the Temple of Iertyl, pure yellow, was a sun in the abysmal darkness.
The hedgehog sighed and turned away from the spectacular view. He decided to live as a hermit on Mt. Latsra for the rest of his life, for all hope seemed abandoned. He would miss the days of passing through Beaveria’s streets, selling his weapons, jewelry, and toys. He would especially miss Hewitt and his little band of rogue children. Winger sighed, curled up on the side of the mountain, and drifted off to sleep.
************************************************************************
Hewitt skipped along through the streets, a small otter following him. Hewitt was on a mission, and he was not going to fail. He was humming as he skipped, the otter walking leisurely behind.
As the otter would pass beavers on the street, they would suddenly feel lighter as something of theirs found their way “accidentally” into the otter’s many pouches. Hewitt said to his otter friend, “So, Fareway, sure you really want to adventure with me and Mister Winger?”
The otter kid, Fareway, replied, “Of course! I mean, we will have plenty of chances for finding and seeing new things. Battles, gold, swords, all kinds of fun stuff. It will also be a good time for me to find out more tales and stories! Did I tell you about the one time I was captured by evil clerics, and had to…”
“I’ve heard this before, Fare. Say, we’re getting closer to the gates. Do you think those soldiers know who we are?”
Occasionally they would pass the yellow and green uniform of a Beaverian Elite or the blue and white armor of an Imperial Guard.
“Nah, they’d think we’re just a pair of kids off to the park! Anyway, we really should reach the mountain in a hurry, or Mister Winger will be lonely. One time, Mister Winger was trying his newest…”
“Fareway, shut up.”
“Okay.”
“I said, shut up.”
“I did!”
“No, you didn’t, you’re talking right now!”
And so the pair of youngsters argued, drawing closer to the gates leading to and from Beaveria. Fareway didn’t notice the enraged citizens yell “Thief, thief!” and Hewitt didn’t hear Bobert and Tara calling for him in the distance.
5
Trumpets blared and vermin scattered across the grasslands, drawing their weapons and preparing their war machines. At the eastern border of Beaveria, these mercenaries were preparing for combat.
A rather tall, cloaked ferret strode to a large boulder in the center of this huge, rag-tag mercenary camp. He raised his yew longbow, and called out, “Let the Union Conquer!”
“LET THE UNION CONQUER!” The entire army, about 500 beasts, repeated the call. The Union of Bows was a strong mercenary group, mainly vermin archers fighting for a living. The tall ferret was Distifus the Bow, leader of the Union. His son, Archibald, was one of the better fighters in the army. It is said that he was the one who slew Jenlo Swordsong.
The army formed up. The common soldiers created 45 ranks of 10, while the officers and leaders marched at the rear. Slaves of the mercenaries were pulling with them large catapults, capable of mass destruction and long-lasting siege.
The Union of Bows was hired by a mystery figure, known only as The Death. It was The Death who was using Distifus as his pawn to conquer Beaveria. Nobeast knew who The Death was, or what his motive for capturing Beaveria was, but Distifus said that his word was the law.
And, in the Union, breaking the law was death.
At the same time, a few miles off, the Beaverian Elites were also preparing for war. 335 skilled and trained beaver warriors, with a few Clerics in their ranks, stood atop the walls surrounding Beaveria. The General placed in charge of Beaveria’s defense, Kyle Grimarrow, set his gaze on the horizon as he heard the trumpets blaring.
“They’re coming, all right…” Kyle remarked.
At his command, the rows of defensive beavers drew slings, longbows, and crossbows. One of the lookouts shouted, “Here they come!”
Sure enough, there was a large, approaching cloud of dust, stirred by around 500 sets of paws and their mobile ballistae. Bolts were loaded, arrows were notched, and stones were picked up from the ramparts.
Suddenly, the Union of Bows halted their approach. A young beaver Sergeant, Edward Nightfall, said, “Why did they stop? Do they think we’re too strong?”
There was a single trumpet tone.
The Union charged.
It was a captivating sight, the 500 mercenaries charging, waving their weapons, ready to breach the walls of Beaveria. Kyle Grimarrow pointed at the Union’s front ranks, and called out clearly, “Pick your targets! Fire!”
Eighteen beasts of the Union screamed as they were cut down by the barrage of projectiles. The charging mercenaries saw the beavers drop and reload, and took this as their chance. They ran past the bodies of their comrades, drawing grappling hooks attached to long, durable ropes.
Archibald the Bow, son of Distifus, laughed with the glee of battle as he started climbing the wall. The beavers tried to sever the ropes with their blades as the Bows threw them.
Edward finished reloading his crossbow and pointed it over the wall, firing a bolt at what seemed like an Union officer. Alongside him, the other beavers continued throwing rocks and shooting arrows and bolts at the foe.
The beaver cutting down Arch’s rope was too slow, and the ferret leaped over the battlement, drawing his poisoned cutlass and cutting him down. Arch spun and thrust his blade, stabbing a beaver officer in the back. By then they noticed the intruder had breached the wall, and attacked him.
Arch tried to fend the beaver onslaught off. He was gashed in the face, and couldn’t counter a maceblow to the stomach by an enraged Cleric. Then, he ducked a flying battleaxe and knocked aside a sword-slash. Seeing he was out-numbered, and also seeing he was the only Bow to breach the battlements, Arch turned and threw himself from the wall, falling to the ground 50 feet below.
All of the other grapplers were slain or injured before they could climb all the way up. Clerics dashed about, healing the fallen beavers before any lasting damage was done.
The Bows had called back their initial attack, and were forming ranks of archers. Almost a score of beavers were hit by arrows, rendering them dead or out of commission. Also, the mobile catapults were set up, the slaves operating them wreaking havoc amongst the beavers, the large stones and boulders killing many and crushing the top of the wall.
Edward, working with bravery and efficiency, wiped sweat from his face. He winced from an arrow-wound in his arm, and fired his crossbow some more. Usually stationed at an outpost of Beaveria, without much battle at all, this was Edward’s first true combat. He had fought well, though, killing seven.
Eventually, The Union of Bows called a retreat. There were around 35 Bow casualties. 30-odd beavers died. The clerics were tending to the wounded and honoring the dead.
6
Winger picked up his wrench and set to work, assembling several limbs of oak with small iron bolts. He worked in the midday heat, affixing various parts and mechanisms to his creation. He wiped sweat from his brow and looked over the side of the mountain, then back to his project.
A wooden hang-glider, fashioned from various trees and metals, lay almost finished in a clearing on the Plateau. Within only a few days, Winger Harr had managed to find resources and materials to make his tools and start creating things again.
He had a small dwelling set up in this clearing, which was basically a tent, a makeshift forge, and a pile of wood and stone. It had been three days since he was banished, yet it seemed like an eternity.
As he affixed a counterweight to the glider, he heard a rustling sound and low, undistinguishable voices in the nearby bushes. Standing slowly, the hedgehog went into a fist-fighting stance. He edged his way slowly over.
Winger had expected a wild beast, a heavily-armed Beaverian Elite, but he did not expect Hewitt and Fareway.
Taken by surprise, he was bowled over by the beaver and otter. The two kids were joyful to see the exiled Winger, and Fareway immediately ran over to “inspect” the hang-glider.
“Daddy Winger! Glad to see you again!”
Winger laughed at the small Hewitt. “Glad to see you again as well, Hewey. Hey, don’t cry, I’m doing okay here!”
Hewitt tried to smile and wiped the tears from his brown muzzle. “Sorry. Say, Fareway, what’s happening!?!”
Winger glanced towards where he last saw Fareway. His mouth hung wide open as he witnessed an amazing sight. Fareway Bulrush was twenty feet above the treetops, clutching onto the hang-glider for dear life as it spiraled upwards on a thermal. Scrabbling about, he slipped from the glider and plummeted to the ground below.
Hewitt blinked and ran into the forest, towards the direction of Fareway, with Winger close behind. After a quick few minutes of running, they found him laying, giggling, in a thornbush. Winger was amazed.
“Fareway, lad, I’ll have to hand it to you. You were the first one to test the WH-747. It was the only working hang-glider of mine ever.
You’ve got talent.”
Fareway winked as he slid one of Winger’s tools into his pouch undetectably. “Aye, I do.”
Hewitt looked up to Winger. “Daddy Winger, does this mean that beavers and other races can achieve flight now, just like the eagles and pigeons?”
Winger was silent for a minute. Then, with a tear in his eye, he laughed. “Yes, it does! I have created flight!”
7
In the Imperial Palace’s grand hall, a council of war was going on.
The room was filled with high-ranking Beaverian officials, representing such brigades as the Imperial Guard, Beaverian Elites, all four Houses (Blue, Yellow, Red, and Black-clerics standing for the four gods), the Beaverian Militia, and the Artillery Regiment. They were in a heated argument over what to do about the increasing Union threat.
Halberd Swiftspell, a Beaverian Elite Commander, yelled to the council, “We should gather every last able-bodied beaver in the empire, gather everybeast from the outposts, mass together, and smash these mercenaries once and for all!”
A beaver wearing black robes and a horned helmet muttered, “and we shall die in the process. A more reasonable move would to fortify the walls further and defend against their assaults until they tire and leave.”
Halberd glowered at the black-robed beaver. “And we shall trust the word of an evil cleric such as Elliot Allrise? I’ll be an otter’s uncle if so.”
A young Militia leader named Ernest Pawswipe stood. “His word is as good as yours and as good as mine, Swiftspell.”
Halberd snorted in contempt. “You should really respect your commanding officers, Ernest. Besides…”
Halberd’s reply was cut off as the Emperor himself entered the chamber. All of the beaver campaigners quieted and lowered their heads as the portly figure, clad in purple, strode past them, flanked by an unit of his guard and one Dupont Sunblade.
The Emperor returned all the officials’ bows and sat down on a throne near the front of the chamber. He nodded to Halberd, Ernest, and Elliot. “Do continue.”
Elliot glanced up, his horned helmet glinting in the light. “Well, as I was saying, we should equally fortify the outer walls and spread our forces atop them evenly, and wait until their assaults subside. We cannot afford to lose much in an all-out assault. Patience is the key.” With that he glanced darkly at Halberd.
Halberd snorted once again. “We will have the element of surprise on our side. Besides, what is a couple of hundred mercs compared to a regiment of trained beavers? C’mon, what’s next, you wanting to ally with our neighbors to the north, the eagles? Or, do you want us to allow that moron hedgehog to lead us into battle? Mwaha!”
Kyle Grimarrow, just returned from the battle and sitting in the seat once held by Jenlo Swordsong, raised his paw. “First of all, arrogance does not get us anywhere. Second of all, the eagles would be a good addition. Third of all, you seem to be in the losing faction, my dear Halberd.”
The heavy-set Halberd, fuming, sat back down in his chair, and crossed his arms across his breastplate.
The Council of War continued as so for several more hours, interrupted only by lunch. Finally, as the bells at the Temple of Untul rang seventeen times, marking the seventeenth hour, the Emperor stood after gathering information from this council. He had laid out his plan mentally. With a voice tinged by wisdom and years of experience, The Emperor spoke.
“We have accomplished some in today’s meeting. Ernest will lead a delegation to the mountains of Rennoc Divad-Ttam and try to convince Imperialson’s eagles to assist us. Halberd and Kyle will lead the forces defending the wall-Kyle on the east and Halberd on the west. Also, Bobert Bridgewood and Elliot Allrise shall patrol the streets with their divisions. This plan sounds reasonable to my advisors, so it shall be carried out. Thank you all for coming today, and, all of you are dismissed to carry out your orders.”
All of the beavers in the Council of War, around one hundred, bowed and left. All seemed impressed by the Emperor’s plans. All but Halberd Swiftspell.
8
“Frentish pip?”
“No, Hewitt, ‘Apprenticeship.’”
“Oh, okay. What does that word mean?”
“It means that I will teach you how to do my job for a while”
“I see, Daddy Winger.”
Winger had just finished talking to Hewitt and Fareway. Since all three decided to live in the woods, away from Mt. Latsra, Winger thought it was a good idea to teach the kids the skills of smithing and inventing. As for the search parties for Hewitt and Fareway, the trio had seen them from afar, but the search parties (led by the worrisome Tara) had never come closer than 500 yards away.
Hewitt scratched his chin. “So that means I become an inventor like you.” Fareway was getting bored with this and was playing around with some sticks. Winger nodded. “Aye. Together, us three will produce enough hang-gliders to arm a battalion. My plan is, we use these to gain the respect of the Emperor and Judge Sunblade again, and, then, the war turns to Beaveria’s favor.”
Hewitt smiled. “That’s a good plan, Daddy Winger. How long will it take?”
Winger shook his head sadly. “After Fareway tested it, the first WH-747 crumbled. It was good for one-time usage, but we need sturdier materials. It took me three and a half days to make the WH-747. My prediction for a stronger model will be, oh, about a month.”
Hewitt groaned.
Winger laughed. “But, we’ve got a beaver who can bite down trees and an otter who can gather resources quickly. It will probably take us three weeks per glider.”
“Good!”
Fareway came back to the area just as he heard the end of the conversation. He grinned and looked around. “Say, how many of these gliders do we hope to build?”
Winger looked down at Fareway. “At least thirty.”
Fareway danced around. “That means we’ll be out here, in the woods, making hang-gliders for almost two years! We are regular renegades, eh?”
Winger hid his smile and adopted a faraway look. “If we want to be accepted into Beaveria again, this is what we must do.”
Hedgehog, otter, and beaver turned back to their work area. Picking up their tools, they got started on the first of many hang-gliders.
9
Tara threw a stool at a grim-faced Bobert Bridgewood as the two were in an argument of their missing nephew. Red-faced beneath her fur, the beaverwife was enraged.
“Our little nephew, barely old enough to leave the gates on a picnic, out on his own, in the wild!!! And all you do is talk about the campaign, blab about the war, brag about the command! Some husband and uncle you are, when we are out there during the whole rotation of the sundial, looking for Hewitt! You should be ashamed, Bobert Bridgewood!”
The beaver warrior glanced at his feet, letting the stool bash into his body.
Tara screamed, “The truth hurts, doesn’t it, when the child is probably dead!”
She left behind a guilty beaver commander and stormed out of the house, towards the agora.
Bobert sighed. He had lost a lot in the past week. A brother, a nephew, an acquaintance (he never really considered Winger a friend), and now his wife. He had lost it all, it seemed. The beaver commander walked over to his curio, unlocking it, and drawing forth the steel sword from its holder.
As all beavers do, Bobert considered suicide the coward’s way out. He walked slowly and sadly through the streets of Beaveria, leaving his house behind. Passing through the gates without trouble, although the guards thought it was peculiar that he have his sword drawn, he headed in the direction of the Union camp.
10
“The Death does not like this. The Death does not like this at all.”
Distifus stood, cowering before a cloaked figure. The figure’s voice was deep, yet shallow. His build was slight, yet rotund. His movement was slow, yet quick. His demeanor was cruel, yet with pity.
“Your attempts on entering Beaveria have failed seven times in a row, Distifus, leader of the Union. I told you when I hired your group of thugs, I wanted the Emperor’s head on a platter immediately. But you are failing me, Bow. You are failing The Death.”
Distifus shivered in the corner of the tent. He reported to The Death after each fight, and, these were the moments he dreaded more than when he saw a fully armed badger swinging a claymore in the Bloodwrath. The ferret mercenary leader had seen and faced many perils, but feared none of them more than the secretive and imperious Death.
“You have five cycles of the seasons to conquer Beaveria. It may seem like a long time, but, we are both far from old. Five years, Distifus. Five years. Don’t worry, I will keep track.”
Distifus gave a shaky salute. The Death, who seemed to be a mere shadow against the sides of the tent, moved slightly and seemed to grow in size, yet shrink at the same time.
“Leave before I consider slaying you.”
The ferret turned and dashed out of the tent, which was concealed in the forests a few hours’ walk from the Union camp. Distifus didn’t stop running until he reached the camp. And, when he did reach the camp, he saw a pleasing sight.
Arch and his comrade Vacoh, a fox poison master, were tugging forth a beaver in chains, obviously riddled with delirium and frustration. The beaver was wearing the green and yellow uniform of an Elite, and the plated tail of an Elite Commander. He was muttering to himself, grabbing about, muttering several names over and over again.
Vacoh snickered. “Master Bow Distifus, we found this bugger running into our camp, swinging his sword about. He was obviously suicidal, but he wanted to die honorably. We didn’t grant his wish, and, we pinned him and chained him. He will be a fair ransom, eh?”
Distifus nodded, and smiled at his son and Vacoh. “Very fair indeed…very fair indeed…But, we could use him as a slave before the ransom. Throw him into the labor pits. We are moving into the forests for a long time to gather re-inforcements. By the time we return, Beaveria will witness an invasion larger than ever seen before. Send out the order to break camp.”
Arch and Vacoh, noticing Distifus’s plan to mass an army, saluted and dashed off to do his bidding. With reinforcements and a beaver prisoner, they just might earn The Death’s favor. Just might indeed.
11
Two and a half years have passed since the invention of the WH-747 and the capture of Bobert Bridgewood. The Union of Bows moved eastward to seek reinforcements, and reinforcements they found. The Union of Bows swelled to over 800 mercenaries, assassins, snipers, poisoners, soldiers, and rovers.
Winger Harr, Hewitt Swordsong, and Fareway Bulrush survived two hard winters hidden in the forests of Mt. Latsra. With the supplies and resources available, they had made twenty-nine gliders, which Winger christened the WH-737 series. Hewitt was now a beaver lad of 11. Fareway didn’t grow much, but he was smarter than before. All three were homesick.
Tara Bridgewood had died from grief and worry from the disappearances of Hewitt and Bobert. The Beaverians were also allied with the eagles of the north, led by the infamous predator Imperialson. The Beaverian Elites now had a regiment of eagle-mounted lancers, and the crews of engineers had created more catapults for defense.
Halberd Swiftspell was now the General of the Elites. His son, Belgrade, was now a High Priest of Iertyl and a magnificent healer. Also, there were new recruits in the Elites and the Militia, including a young swordsbeaver named Percival Counterblade.
The Emperor was suspicious of the long absence of the Union of Bows. Throughout these two and a half years the empire was constantly at DEFCON 3, leaving Beaveria in tension of another attack.
12
Winger Harr looked over the summit of the plateau of Mt. Latsra. Trees surrounded Beaveria, trees now turning yellow and red and orange and brown due to the onset of autumn. Every now and then a tree or two fell, bitten down by a beaver to build something.
Hewitt had grown several inches, and it was obvious that someday he would be a strong beaver. Fareway was still as light as ever, and as tricky and silent as ever, signifying a future thief.
The beaver lad had armed himself with a hatchet made by Winger. Winger had also spun him a new tunic. He seemed to have wisdom beyond his age now.
The hedgehog inventor and smith was still strong, and still his spirits were lowered by his banishment from Beaveria. A few spikes, a few hairs were grayer than the rest of his prickly body. At 40, Winger noted that he wasn’t young anymore. Picking up one of the WH-737 gliders, he glanced over at Hewitt and Fareway.
“It is time.”
Hewitt and Fareway both nodded and climbed aboard their WH-737s. Winger pointed to the edge of the plateau. He uttered a single command. “To the Emperor, fellows.”
The three hefted the gliders and ran full-force to the edge of the plateau. They leaped off, catching the wind, and climbed aboard their gliders. Soaring across the sky in formation, they looked like vultures swooping down to eat the carcass of a dead animal.
Edward Nightfall, on sentry duty, looked up and saw the three gliders descending towards the palace. He screamed, “Attack, attack! We are under attack by great birds! Sound the alarm!”
Giant bells were rang at all four temples, at the Palace, and all along the wall. All the civilians ran to their homes and locked themselves in, as the soldiers and clerics exited theirs. Dupont Sunblade glanced up at the flying forms, and glanced over to a group of archers who had their arrows pointed straight at Winger, Hewitt, and Fareway.
“Put down those bows. We are not under attack.”
Winger and his two apprentice inventors landed amidst the surprised soldiers. Halberd Swiftspell ran forth, angered, and yelled, “You! You are supposed to be in exile! What is the meaning of this?”
Hewitt said calmly, “Halberd, sir, we have created these gliders to help the war effort. Will they be of use?”
Dupont stepped forth, interrupting whatever Halberd’s reply was going to be. “Yes, yes, I think they shall be of use. We could mount crossbows on the gliders for airborne combat. We shall have to clear this with the Emperor, but, Winger, I believe you have earned your way back into Beaveria.” Sobs were heard a few minutes later from the overjoyed Winger Harr.
13
Eight hundred-plus paws thumped across the plains. Twenty ballistae and catapults, pulled by slaves, followed close behind. One of the slaves was a beaver, who looked like he was once strong, but now starved.
At the front of the many columns marched Archibald the Bow, Distifus the Bow, and Vacoh Errakew the Paw. The whole army was chanting some kind of primitive war canticle. Swords, spears, bows, crossbows, daggers, pikes, staves, maces, and knives were being waved as they tramped closer to Beaveria.
Just over a few leagues from Beaveria, the army stopped for a while. Distifus left his army for a few hours. He had a quick, and intimidating, discussion with The Death. Even this shadow figure was impressed by the forces the ferret mercenary had gathered. Beaveria was surely in his dark paw.
However, his hopes were dashed as he learned of a regiment of beaver warriors mounted on eagles and something called “gliders,” led by an inventor and two kids. His hopes were dashed as he heard of the swelling Beaverian ranks. The Death still wanted Beaveria, however, and Beaveria he was going to get.
Distifus, after this meeting with The Death, returned to his army. He stood in the center of the camp, raising his yew bow. At this signal, the army gathered around to hear what the leader of the mercenaries was going to say.
“After two and a half years of regrouping and reinforcing, we have created a mighty army who can conquer Redwall and Salamandastron and even Dark Mouse’s Cove if we felt like it. But, we have a bigger and better prize in front of us. We have Beaveria. Home of the beaver warriors and clerics, home of many civilians fit for use for slaves.”
The Union of Bows cheered, waving their weapons and chanting. Distifus raised a paw for order. Then, his face grew more solemn, with a look of what seemed like defeat. “We face greater peril than we thought. Groups of eagles with beaver warriors atop. Regiments of soldiers on some kind of gliding invention. Well-trained recruits and new war machines. It seems like we will have a tough battle ahead of us.”
The army didn’t care, however. They all liked rough battles more than easy battles, like when they pillaged towns and raided dens. They still cheered, chanted, and waved their weapons.
Distifus grinned widely and raised his longbow once more. The army quieted. Suddenly, he lowered the longbow and pointed west…towards Beaveria. “LET THE UNION CONQUER!”
The call was answered once more. “LET THE UNION CONQUER!”
Winger, Fareway, and Hewitt dashed about, instructing the beavers in the proper use of the WH-737 gliders and their crossbow attachments. Halberd Swiftspell and a group of beavers were mounting golden eagles, raising spears, pikes, and lances. The foot soldiers gathered just outside the gates. A group of cavalry beavers, mounted on boars, paced around near the foot soldiers.
Ernest Pawswipe nodded to Hewitt and Winger after they told him how to climb aboard a hang-glider. He did so, and held the crossbow attachments, glancing over the wall towards the east, where the Union would be coming from.
Percival Counterblade gripped his pike as he sat atop a young golden eagle named Westwind. Both of them were about to be in their first battle. Both of them were confident of success.
The dust cloud was spotted on the horizon. The beaver commanders organized their troops. Winger Harr leaped into the air, shouting.
“TAKE FLIGHT AND CHARGE! BEAVERIAAAAA!!!”
14
The first rank of Union mercenaries didn’t expect the rows of gliders to appear just as they came within eyesight of the wall. They didn’t expect, furthermore, the gliders to have crossbow attachments.
Winger, Hewitt, and Fareway, leading the first group of gliders, ripped into the front ranks like lightning. Crossbow bolts from nine flights of gliders slew plenty, stunting the advance of the Union. The hang-gliders circled out of arrow range, to reload.
Following the gliders were fifty golden eagles, each with a mounted beaver lancer. Halberd Swiftspell led, his great lance raised into the air, the beaver commander wearing magnificent, antique chainmail. He made a truly heroic sight.
The Union hadn’t fully recovered by the time the eagles arrived. Spears ripped into the flesh of mercenaries as eagle beaks and talons provided twice the damage. Halberd yanked his lance from the chest of a wolf, and ordered his eagle, Imperialson, to keep going through the ranks of Bows.
Imperialson frowned and said to Halberd, “But that will insure our deaths. I cannot follow such an order.”
Halberd Swiftspell cuffed the golden eagle across the side of the face. “I order whoever I want to and however I want to, eagle, and you will do as I say. Keep going!”
The other eagles had flown off to regroup with the gliders, leaving Imperialson and Halberd flying over the Bows alone, making easy targets. Halberd’s move was fatal, as Imperialson bucked the beaver commander from his back. Halberd fell to the ground, landing on two Bow soldiers with a sickening crunch. Imperialson shook his head at the arrogant beaver, circled out of arrow range, and prepared for another attack.
There were over eighty casualties for the Bows in that first assault alone. The Union of Bows recovered just as the boar cavalry into the broken front ranks. Kyle Grimarrow led the cavalry, and he led them well. Tusk and gladius combined slaughtered what was left of the original front ranks. However, several boars and beavers were cut down, including Kyle Grimarrow’s mount.
Kyle stood and slashed at the slayer of his boar, but gurgled as he was stabbed in the back by a weasel’s dagger. Edward Nightfall, in the cavalry, rushed his steed over, and hacked the weasel to bits. The young beaver Sergeant then almost went under a wave of Union soldiers. He would be dead if it wasn’t for Winger Harr.
A spiky ball, falling from the sky, rolled right through the Union soldiers. It was Winger. Drawing twin dirks, the hedgehog spun through the mercenaries, causing death and havoc wherever he spun. Winger had made it through the ranks without a scratch. He reached the back, near the slaves and ballistae. He saw the slaves, being forced to assemble the catapults by whip-bearing stoat drivers.
Winger recognized Bobert Bridgewood, who was finishing the assembly of a trebuchet. He suddenly had a plan. Whipping his daggers at the slave drivers to distract them, he called up to Fareway, “Bulrush! Get down here now!”
The otter leaped from his glider into the midst of the slaves. There was no need telling Fareway what to do. The experienced lock-picker saw a lock-picking dream! He dashed about the slaves, picking the locks of their chains quickly. The slaves abandoned their ballistae and slew the nearby drivers, and took their weapons.
Bobert Bridgewood, standing alongside a freed mole slave, cracked the whip of a fallen stoat driver. “Time to avenge Jenlo! Beaveriaaaaa!”
The mole laughed, picked up a club, and said, “Burr aye, you’m beaver folk be moighty vengeful.”
Eventually, the foot soldiers arrived and aided the assault. The eagle-mounted lancers and the gliders had leaped to the ground to initiate melee combat. Sword, talon, spike, and plated tail wreaked almighty havoc among the Union. They could never get the ballistae assembled, or, for that matter, the upper hand in the battle.
With a rage un-paralleled, Winger picked up a flail and boarded his hang-glider. He soared after two ferrets and a fox, who were retreating towards the woods. They seemed to be the leaders of the mercenaries. Winger Harr, with flight and fury, attacked them from behind, gripping the glider with one paw and swinging the flail with the other.
Distifus screamed in agony as his right arm was torn completely off by the flail. Arch winced as he was kicked in the lower back by Winger, and Vacoh howled as he was hit in the knee. Winger couldn’t pull off any more attacks, however, as Arch fired his loaded crossbow at Winger’s back when he flew by. The hedgehog screamed as he was hit, managed to fly his glider over the forests, and then he plummeted into the forest with a scream. Then, all was silent.
15
The freed slaves, led by Bobert Bridgewood and the mole (who was named Diggers Drillpaw), attacked the Union from behind. Without their leaders, and being assaulted on all sides by beavers and eagles, the Union was disheartened. But, they did not go down without a fight. Before the Union retreated, they had slain over a hundred beavers, some boars, and even two eagles. The Beaverians let the last fifty or so mercenaries retreat into the forest. The battle was won.
But, after the dust of battle cleared, they saw their fallen commanders. Halberd Swiftspell and Kyle Grimarrow were both dead. Winger was missing. Elliot Allrise was unconscious. Ernest Pawswipe bled from an immense wound in his side. The beavers saw the cost of victory. Gathering up their supplies, they set off towards the wall of Beaveria, the clerics tending to the wounded.
Hewitt glanced at Fareway, who was kicking a half-conscious fox. “Fareway, where is Winger? He was here just a minute ago, battling the slave drivers!”
Fareway shrugged. “He just flew after some commanding officers, biffed the unholy heck out of them, screamed when he was shot in the back, and fell into the forest a few miles off.”
Hewitt backhanded Fareway angrily. “Winger is dead, you fool! Why do you always look at life and death as if it were a walk in the agora? Why do you look at certain death as if it were a daisy chain? Augh, your antics have gone far enough, otter!”
And, with a scream of frustration, the young Hewitt Swordsong plunged into the forest to find Winger. Fareway stood there for a few minutes, humming, and then he skipped into the woods after him.
Author’s Note
I’m pretty sure you want to know what happens next. Well, what happens next is a whole different story. Coming soon is the second installment of the octet, “Two of Death and Dealing.” I hope you enjoyed the first tale in the Beaverian Legends collection. I would like to thank Brian Jacques for inspiring me to join the Redwall Online Community and inspiring me to write this series, Matt Conner for helping me with story ideas, and all who read and like this story.